


The Spurs of the Badlands

by randi2204



Series: The Spurs of the Badlands [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JD is reading Jock Steele's new book, <i>The Spurs of the Badlands</i>, but is it really new? Ezra's got an inkling it isn't, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spurs of the Badlands

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, just having fun.

When Ezra stepped out of the saloon, JD was slouched in one of the chairs out front, a slim paper-bound book in his hands.  Ezra settled in the other chair and tugged the table they normally used for checkers a bit closer to hold his beer.  “Well, JD, what fine piece of literature are you perusing?”

 

“It’s the newest Jock Steele story,” JD replied, moving his hand away from the cover illustration.  “I just got it in the mail yesterday, and I wanted to read it right away.”

 

Indeed, now Ezra did recognize that hallmark of Jock Steele’s particular brand of exaggerated fiction – the bland dust-colored cover with its big block letters and woodcut artwork of a band of men on horseback, guns drawn.  _That picture looks familiar somehow_ , he thought, frowning a little, though of course he would never admit to _reading_ any such tripe.  “I’m sure it’s remarkably similar to all of the other… whoop-up tales that Mister Steele somehow manages to find readers for.  Are you certain, then, that it’s _new_?”

 

JD shook his head.  “Oh, it is.  ‘A brand new story from the renowned Jock Steele, filled with reckless gangs of desperados, flinty-eyed gunmen with nerves of steel and hearts of gold and shootouts galore!  Get ready for the ride of your life!’”

 

Ezra snorted as he drew his deck of cards from his pocket.  “Sounds like Mister Steele should get someone _else_ to write his descriptions for the cover.  That sounded entirely too…” He gestured with one hand.  “Well, overstated comes to mind.”

 

Because he was looking, he saw JD roll his eyes.  “And you’ve never overstated anything in your life,” the boy muttered, returning to his book.

 

“Ah, but when I _overstate_ , my dear JD, I do so with style and dignity… both of which are foreign concepts to Mister Steele.” Ezra propped his feet on a nearby barrel and began to work the cards, cutting them first with one hand then the other.

 

JD said nothing to that, seemingly engrossed in the story once more.

 

It wasn’t long, however, before he straightened in his chair.  Then, as Ezra watched from the corner of his eye, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, thick brows pulled together in a frown as he read.

 

The frown had deepened considerably before Ezra’s curiosity was engaged enough for him to ask, “Somethin’ wrong?”

 

JD glanced up, looking puzzled.  “I don’t know.  Just… it reads kinda familiar, like I already know what’s gonna happen somehow.”

 

Ezra’s lips twitched into a tiny grin.  He held the deck in one hand and reached for his beer with the other.  “Well, I do hate to say I told you so, but…”

 

He returned to his book with a sigh.  “Well, it’s not like Jock Steele’s ever wrote about Mitch Laramie before, so I don’t know…”

 

Unfortunately, Ezra had just taken a mouthful of beer, and sprayed it disgracefully.  He pushed himself upright, coughing and spluttering, one hand wiping droplets from his mouth.  “Say that again?” he asked, once he’d recovered enough to choke out the words.

 

JD’s eyes were wide and round.  “Jeez, Ezra, are you all right?”

 

The beer mug thumped onto the checker table.  “JD.” He kept his voice as even as possible; after all, his pants were now scented with spilt beer and his cards were damp.  “What. Did. You. Say?”

 

Still gaping a little, JD just offered up the book.  Ezra snatched it from him and flipped to the first page. He scanned it quickly.  “Where.... ah.  ‘The street was empty now of outlaws – at least of the living variety.  Mitch Laramie…’ Oh, dear Lord!  ‘… made sure his pistol was loaded and ready for the next gang of desperados, if one should appear, then tucked it back into his flashy silver-studded holster.  His friend, Jim Banner –’” He stopped reading and closed his eyes, sighing.  After a moment, he faced JD again.  “Well, at least we have discovered why it is so familiar to you.”

 

The frown was back, and JD paused in reaching for his book.  “What’re you talkin’ about?”

 

Arching one eyebrow in disbelief, Ezra stared.  “JD, surely it cannot have escaped even _your_ attention that this… this… _tale_ is, in actuality, about _us?_ ”

 

Astonishment flooded JD’s face.  “What? No, it ain’t!”  He made a grab for his book, nearly overbalancing and falling out of the chair when Ezra yanked it back out of reach.

 

“Oh, I’m afraid it is indeed.”  Quickly, he scanned the page.  “Here… ‘Only a moment passed before Lucky joined them.  Lucky Farmington was a tall man, lean and lanky, with a smile always dancing around his eyes. “Hey, pardners,” he said, a devil-may-care smile stretching his mustache, “that was one hell of a time, wasn’t it? Whoo-eee!” He slapped his hat against his leg for emphasis.’ Now, JD, if _that_ isn’t a… surprisingly _accurate_ word-portrait of our Buck, then I must admit I don’t know what it is.”

 

JD snatched the book away from him.  “Naw, it can’t be…”

 

Ezra shrugged.  “Disbelieve all you like.  I shudder to think what moniker Mister Steele has saddled _me_ with in…” He stretched to pluck the book from JD’s hands once more.  “ _The Spurs of the Badlands_.  Even the title is…”  At the utterly crestfallen look JD cast at him, Ezra stopped.  JD’s expression tugged at something inside that he thought he’d lost a long time ago.  “Now, son,” he said, his tone as placating as if JD were an angry mark out to take his money back, “as long as you enjoy what Mister Steele has printed there on the page, I don’t see that it matters _where_...”

 

“No, you wouldn’t!” Abruptly, JD pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the book again, only to fling the thin volume to the boardwalk.  “I can’t read it now – not when I’m gonna be thinkin’ it’s all things _we_ did!  And how’d he even _get_ the idea anyway?” Now the boy was glaring at _him_ , like it was his fault somehow.  “How much did he pay you for it?”

 

The outburst shocked him.  “JD, I assure you, I have _not_ …”

 

“It’s just the kind of thing you’d do, Ezra!  We all know it!” He stormed away, down the street toward the livery.

 

Ezra watched him depart, mouth open slightly in astonishment.  “I wish I _had_ ,” he murmured vaguely to JD’s back.  “It never even occurred to me…”  He bent to pick up the sadly abused book.  As he was about to put it on the chair JD had vacated, in case he had a change of heart and returned for it, an idea struck him.

 

Mister Steele had written a tale about them, using pseudonyms to disguise that it wasn’t entirely fiction.  What, then, was stopping _him_ from writing a similar tale?  Perhaps using their real names?  After all, how hard could it be?

 

Grinning widely, he stood, dropping the book onto the checker table, and headed back into the saloon.  Up in his room, he had pen and paper…

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) prompt [Author's Choice, Author's Choice, The Spurs of the Badlands](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/89506.html?thread=4258722#cmt4258722) (a title created using a title generator).


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